


Manipul8

by OnyxSardonyx



Series: Unfortun8 Events [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Mind Control, unrequited flushed feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSardonyx/pseuds/OnyxSardonyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Thus my heart was 8roken twice. I was fond of the slave. There was surely promise in her red investment.<br/>He had her assassin8ed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A slightly-AU story in which the Dolorosa comes into Mindfang's service straight after the Sufferer's death, and stays with her for months (rather than just a few days).

Her smile is cruel and merciless. Her eyes give you the creeps. You instantly mistrust her.

You aren't allowed to say anything. You are, after all, but a slave.

It's not a position you've held before, but you can adapt.

You don't want to. You've been free for too long. You defied all of society's standarts by raising a child. You've watched the Signless grow and preach. You believed in him. You watched your beloved son die and stayed with him through the ordeal. It's been a wonderful life - even though it was full of hardship and secrecy, the love and beauty and freedom you experienced made it worth it.

And now you've had to leave that life behind, to become a slave for this Blueblood.

She's still observing you, her gaze coursing over your body. She would look impassive if not for the smile gracing her blue lips.

You lower your eyes.

"Come here," she says. You comply. She moves towards you, too close for comfort. You don't flinch; you keep your gaze down and only meet her eyes hesitatingly as she raises your chin.

"Are you afraid of me?" she asks softly.

Don't speak unless directly addressed, you think. You avoid her eyes. It's wise to play along with your new role, though it doesn't suit you.

And she is genuinely terrifying.

So you decide to tell the truth.

"Yes, my lady."

Her gaze is unnerving.

"Have you had any other masters?"

"No, my lady."

She smiles sweetly and dangerously.

"You're old to be entering service for the first time," she observes. It's not a question. You don't answer.

"What's your name?"

You look up. Your name is dangerous. It is known that you walked with the Signless; few people know your face, but your name will illicit whispers and inspire admiration in some, hatred in others.

Your name is dangerous. If not to anyone else, then to you.

"I would prefer not to say, my lady," you whisper.

She laughs, and for the first time, you can see a side of her that doesn't scare the living hell out of you.

"You're honest," she says. "I like that."

You lower your eyes again, but once more, her fingers are at your chin, forcing you to look at her.

Blue eyes meet green. She looks at you sternly, almost like she's examining you.

"I know you were a follower of the Sufferer," she says gently. "I could guess your name, if I cared enough to remember. But if you would rather I do not know, then so it shall be."

You don't trust her. Her words have sent a surge of alarm through you, which you are careful not to show. She holds your gaze steadily, without smiling.

She hasn't killed you yet. Her hatred for the Sufferer cannot be all that great, even though she is a higher blood caste.

"I do, however, need something to call you by," she says almost gently. "I cannot have a slave without a name. Give me a name, any name, and I will call you by it without further questions."

You consider this for only a moment.

"Mary."

"Mary," she echoes. "It's a strange name. Does it mean anything?"

"I don't think so, my lady."

She's still holding your chin, but her eyes flicker down to your lips for a moment.

"Well then, Mary," she says. "Be assured that you have nothing to fear from me. I do not mistreat my slaves."

She smiles again. Devilish. "You've been fortunate. Many others would have you culled just for being you."

"I know, my lady."

Her finger over your lips. "Shh. You do not speak unless spoken to."

You resist the urge to pull away. She's too close, too close. You simply nod quickly and wait for her to remove her hands from your lips.

She lingers a little longer than necessary, almost caressing.

"I don't agree with many of the Sufferer's teachings," she then says, finally letting go of you. She turns and sits on one of the extravagant chairs in the room. "Yet I have never perceived him to be the threat that higher castes often make him out to be. I do not believe there is a reason to kill those who followed him. He's dead now, anyway, so how much more damage can he do?"

Your mouth is set in a straight line. You do not speak unless spoken to. She isn't speaking to you.

She's speaking of your son. You watched him bleed, you felt him die.

Nobody should be allowed to speak of him with disrespect.

Yet you hold yourself back.

She can see the emotions playing out on your face, though. She beckons for you to come closer and with a gesture asks you to sit. You kneel down on the floor, half beside her, half in front of her, facing her.

"He was dear to you, wasn't he," she says.

She isn't touching you.

"I would rather not speak of him," you say stiffly.

She laughs.

"You would rather not say your name, you would rather not speak of the Sufferer. Is there anything you would like to speak of?"

You believe that was a genuine question. You look up.

"With respect, my lady," you say hesitantly. "I am new to this life and not yet sure what I am allowed to do and say."

She laughs.

"Are you always this direct?"

You glance down again. "I try, my lady."

"Good." She smiles and places two fingers on your jaw. You think that maybe you are already growing accustomed to the way she always seems to want to touch you. It's not entirely unpleasant.

"I value honesty."

You nod shyly, careful not to move too hastily so she won't feel like you don't want her touches. The truth is, you're still undecided whether you want them or not. You don't really mind.

Which is odd, considering the surge of mistrust that seeing her for the first time sent through you.

"You can, of course, say whatever you like," she says. Her devilish grin is back.

She hasn't asked you a question, but you answer anyway. "You know as well as I do that saying certain things will get me killed."

She nods gravely. She doesn't comment on the fact that you just spoke out of term. She doesn't comment on the fact that you didn't address her as My lady.

"You should know better than I, then, what to say and what to stay silent about," she says.

She doesn't say it aggressively, she doesn't even have that dangerous smile on her lips anymore. But somehow, you feel like it's a threat.

You look down, instantly meek.

"Yes, my lady," you whisper.

She smiles and withdraws. "Enough talk," she says. "It's nearly dawn. Let me show you to your quarters."

You arise silently and let her guide you through her hive. It's one of the largest hives you've ever seen, and you know you're not the only servant. What exactly your duties will be, she hasn't said, but you can almost guess from the way she touched you. The thought fills you with dread.

Your quarters are bigger than any room you've lived in before. They're clean and the only things you can see is a wardrobe and a sopor tank. Apparently, you won't be needing anything else.

"I do hope this will suffice your needs, Mary," the Marquise says. Her hand is resting at the small of your back.

"Most certainly, my lady," you say.

"Excellent. My servants usually take breakfast just before sunset. Come to my room afterwards. You will have a few household duties, the cook will explain them to you at breakfast. Do not be late."

You nod. She withdraws.

"Sleep well," she says.

"You too, my lady," you whisper and courtesy. She gives you one last smile before closing the door to your room.


	2. Chapter 2

Your sleep is light and your dreams are troubled. You wake too early for breakfast, the dark laughter of your new mistress lingering in your memory.

You wish you knew why she inspires such mixed feelings in you. You don't trust her, you still don't believe that she doesn't want to have you killed for following the Signless. And yet, everything about her is oddly fascinating, even enticing. Drawing you in.

You fear that if you let yourself be drawn in completely, she will never let you go.

Breakfast is a dull affair. Nobody speaks much; like Mindfang said, the cook simply explains your duties to you and leaves you alone after that. You get the feeling that nobody quite wants to talk to you, as if they see you as a threat.

After breakfast, you go up to the Marquise's room, like she asked you to.

Her door is unlocked, but she is still sleeping. You leave the door open; what little daylight is left floods the corridor and illuminates her face.

She looks vulnerable in her sleep. The sopor is hugging her body up to her shoulders, her hair is loose around her neck.

She's not smiling, she's not looking at you or touching you. She's simply... there, and for the first time, you realise that she's beautiful.

It's not scary beauty, or evil beauty, or even sinister beauty. It's just the simple beauty of a woman who's asleep and can't help being beautiful.

You can tell she's about to wake, though. You lower your eyes. It would not be good for her to find you ogling at her as she wakes up.

You hear some sloshing in the sopor tank and imagine her sitting up. You definitely don't imagine the slime gliding off her shoulders, dripping down her naked torso, winding its way downwards along her breasts and her back -

"You're here." Her voice almost startles you. "Good."

You don't look at her. Her voice reawakens the dread you felt yesterday. The mistrust. She might have a beautiful body. But you need to be wary of her.

"Come over here," she says. "Help me get out."

You slowly raise your eyes. She's starting to get up, ready to leave the sopor. You keep your eyes fixed on hers as you walk over and reach out your hand. She takes it and steps out of the tank. You cannot help but look at some of her body; by some design, her skin is relatively clean of the slime.

"There are towels on the desk, hand me one," she says. You nod, let go of her hand and take a towel. She takes it out of her hand, her fingers touching yours for a moment.

Instead of wrapping it around her body, though, she just lets it dangle off her arm loosely.

"It's okay to look, Mary," she says softly.

You look into her eyes fearfully. She gives you a slight nod. She's not smiling. She seems completely sincere.

In a flash, you remember the thought you had yesterday. About the... duties you will likely have to perform.

You let your gaze wander over her face, down her neck, over her petite breasts and her slim waist. You can't help but notice that her bulge is half unsheathed. You feel a sudden, burning desire to touch it.

You look up again. This time, she's smiling.

"Do you like what you see, Mary?"

You are unwilling to say yes or no. You do not want to invite her in further, and yet somehow that is exactly what you want.

The sopor darkens her skin, its bright green colour masking the blue of her blood.

"I asked you a question," she says, a small dangerous undertone entering her voice.

You blush. You have to answer.

"You are very beautiful, my lady," you say.

Her smile doesn't waver. "Come closer."

You are already but an arm's width from her. She draws you in. The towel falls to the ground.

She's going to kiss you.

Her hand snakes up, curls around your neck, fingers gently combing through your hair. You hold still. You look at her.

She doesn't kiss you.

"Do you know why I bought you?" she asks quietly. You can feel her breath on your lips.

"No, my lady." There's an instinct, shouting at you to run run run, and yet you don't move an inch. "Though I can guess," you offer hesitantly. Your hand twitches. You can feel your bulge reacting to her closeness, your nook heating up.

She laughs against your lips, almost but not quite touching. She draws back only a little.

"I don't want to do anything you don't want me to do," she says gently. "You are not a toy, but a person. You can refuse."

You look at her, barely able to believe what you're hearing.

"Given my position, refusing would be unwise," you whisper. You are terrified. You are excited. You want to run. You want her closer.

"Do you want to refuse?" she asks.

Yes yes yes. No no no.

You don't trust her. Yet you want her.

There is no quadrant that defines the way you are feeling about her right now. Maybe this is outside of any quadrants. She is your mistress. You are her slave.

You slowly shake your head, believing it to be the truth.

"Good," she breathes, then closes the distance between you and captures your lips with her own.

The kiss is careful at first, tentative. You don't dare to be more forward and wait for her to take the initiative. She growls softly and pulls you closer, pressing her whole body against you. She can surely feel your own arousal now. She licks her way into your mouth and presses her tongue against yours. You finally dare to touch her, placing a hand on her hips and the other at her neck. Her hair is still wet with sopor. Your hand slowly travels upwards as your tongue explores her mouth. Her teeth are as sharp as yours; you carefully avoid them as you lick the taste of her off her tongue.

You remind yourself that you are expected to please her. These encounters are for her, not you. If you get pleasure out of it, it will be little more than a nice side-effect.

And as much as she might say that your desires matter, that you are a person, not a toy - the fact remains that you do not trust her, and that you are her slave. Her possession.

You wrap a hand around one of her horns, causing her to gasp into your mouth. You rub gently and she presses further towards you. You can feel her bulge, fully unsheathed now, worming its way between your legs.

She lets go of you quite suddenly. You open your eyes to look at her questioningly.

"Strip," she commands you.

She's still naked, you are still fully clothed. You comply immediately, hastily taking off all your clothes. Most of them have small bits of sopor sticking to them. You will have to wash them later.

No time to worry about that now, though.

The moment you drop your clothes, she's on you again. She pushes you towards the other end of the room. There's a large sofa, probably designed exactly for this purpose. She pushes you down, her hair tickling your breasts. Your hand finds her horns again. She moans into your mouth. Her bulge rubs against yours, causing both of you to gasp.

Before you can start wondering how she wants to do this, she's stroking your bulge, gently nudging it out of the way. You shiver slightly and press against her, wanting to feel more of her skin on yours. She laughs softly into your mouth, then groans as your fingers find her nook.

Your hand is coated with her juices almost immediately. You've rarely had anyone who was this wet and ready. You almost regret that she won't welcome you inside this time. You keep working your fingers into her, swallowing her moans as her bulge winds itself towards your nook.

One of your hands still firmly wrapped around her horn, you let go of her lips and bury your face in her shoulder. The moment her bulge enters your nook, you bite the tough skin lightly - not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave a mark.

She stills immediately and withdraws. You acutely miss her pressure against your nook and barely manage to suppress a whine.

"No biting," she whispers harshly, her voice dark with arousal.

You look at her and wince slightly. "I'm sorry, my lady."

She licks the apology from your lips and presses her bulge into your nook again. You whine softly and bury your fingers in her nook, deep enough to draw a low shout. You take care to keep your teeth away from her skin. She rocks against you, rocking down on your fingers while increasing the pressure in your nook, and you pick up her rhythm enthusiastically, trying to match her speed with your fingers.

Soon, she's going faster, her rhythm becoming erratic. You go with her, feeling slight disappointment blossoming in your chest: you are far from pailing, and yet she seems to be close to the edge.

Sure enough, she reaches down and grabs a bucket while pulling back; you hold her and continue stroking the inside of her nook as well as the base of her horns as she pails violently, painting the inside of the bucket blue. She falls back as you push yourself up and take the bucket from her. You can expect no further gratification from her; you let go of her nook and wrap a hand around your bulge.

You've done this more than often enough to know how to make yourself pail. You slide a finger up to your nook and crook it just so, and within moments, your jade green pail mixes with hers.

Your other hand is still resting around her horns, though you're not rubbing it anymore. You gently scratch her scalp. She curls up against you and purrs softly.

You're making her purr. A vague smile finds its way to your lips, the first since you arrived here.

You start finger-combing her hair, working your way through the thick strands tenderly, careful not to pull. Her hair is lovely, long and straight but wild. Her purring grows louder, and she shuffles slightly to the side to give you better access to her head.

After a few minutes of silence, she sits up and looks at you.

She seems almost harmless when she's like this, and her voice is soft and gentle.

"You pailed long after I did," she observes. "Did I not do you justice?"

You ponder this for a moment.

"I am here to give you pleasure, my lady," you then say softly.

You don't mention the other thought that crossed your mind: that she is a lot more inexperienced than you.

Instead, you promise yourself to change that. She's going to want sex from you regularly - often enough for you to begin to educate her.

She leans in to you and puts her head on your shoulder. Sweet, trusting. Harmless, like a wriggler. You don't think of the numerous times your son leaned in to you like that. You don't think about it because it would only bring you pain.

"I'm keeping you," she whispers into the crook of your neck. Almost against your will, you smile through your pain. She looks up; you watch her face light up as she sees your smile.

"You're beautiful when you smile," she says softly. "I want to see that smile more often."

"Yes, my lady," you whisper.

She leans in and tastes the smile on your lips. You respond to the kiss, wrapping your arms around her. She's almost sitting in your lap already, her bare thighs rubbing against your bulge bone.

When she pulls back, some of the stern, former mistress you saw yesterday is back. There's still a trace of that soft smile around the corners of her mouth, though.

"You'll assist me while I take a shower," she says. It barely sounds like a command, more like a fact she stated for the record.

And you suppose you will.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next few nights, you grow accustomed to life in the Marquise's mansion. You wake just before dusk, you have breakfast, you go to her room and wait for her to wake up. After that first evening, you're always naked as soon as the door to her room closes, and you wait for her like that. There hasn't been a single evening when she didn't want to have sex with you as soon as she woke up. You tend to have sex just before she goes to sleep as well. Inbetween, you do your household duties and wait for her to come back from her business out of the hive. You are not permitted to leave the hive.

You still don't trust her, but you've reached an uneasy arrangement. At least, it feels uneasy to you - she seems perfectly fine with it. You have sex, you wait on her. She commands you. You're hers in every way.

You don't trust her. You don't trust yourself around her. You've heard whispers among her other servants that she is skilled in mind control; apparently, as a new slave, you aren't supposed to know that. You believe you would be able to tell if you were controlled, and yet you are unable to say for sure.

It would certainly account for your strange physical attraction towards her. It would account for the way her touches never seemed to bother you. You suspect she's very subtle about it, giving you the illusion of being in control of your own fate.

You don't think you can tell the difference between sexual attraction and mind control, in this case. She's beautiful. You have come to love the way she touches you, every touch a reassurance. You love the noises she makes when you pleasure her. You love her cuddly and harmless postcoital self.

You fear everything about her. The possibility that she's manipulating you into loving her only makes you fear her more.

You hold on to the fear, you hold on to your distrust of her. If nothing else, at least you can say for certain that those feelings are yours and yours alone.

 

 

On the fifth evening after you came to her, she doesn't request that you help her shower after sex.

Instead, she says, "We'll be leaving here tonight."

"Oh?" You are surprised by the 'we'. You haven't left the mansion since you arrived.

"Yes. This mansion is only my temporary hive, for when I have business ashore. Later tonight, my ship will sail again. You've been to sea before, haven't you?"

"Yes, my lady." You travelled with the Signless. He visited many lands. His ship is legendary. You know it for what it was: barely more than a boat, staying afloat through good will and love more than excellent craftsmanship. You're lucky to have made that journey alive.

You suspect that the Marquise's ship will be a lot better: more equipped, faster, more protective. You liked the sea. You hope it will be even more enjoyable on a proper ship.

"Excellent," she says. "Make sure you are ready to leave in a few hours."

"I will, my lady."

She stands up. "You'll be one of the few slaves I'll take with me. I have come to value your services. I would not do without them."

She likes you, you realise. Possibly beyond physical attraction. You're not sure if this realisation scares or delights you.

Because she looks at you, and you feel like you have to say something, you incline your head slightly. "Thank you, my lady."

She chuckles and leans in to kiss you. You pull her hot, naked body towards you. Skin on skin. She withdraws before it gets too far.

"I don't think I'll be needing your assistance with the shower today," she tells you. "We're leaving as soon as I've taken breakfast. Go and get yourself ready."

You nod and courtesy and go to your room to pack the few belongings you have.

 

 

The ship is rowed out of the harbour a few hours later. As the Marquise's personal slave and consort, you don't have to do any rowing duties. You stand on deck by her side and watch as the city grows smaller in the distance.

Her ship is truly majestic. It's big, made from fine timber wood, its sails black. The single flag on the mast is blue, like the Marquise's blood, and has her sign on it in black. You can't help but be overwhelmed by the beauty and elegance of the ship.

The quarters you'll be living in are rough, but you've slept in worse places. You are sharing a room with Mindfang. As taking sopor tanks on a ship would be unnecessarily complicated and dangerous, you sleep on a thin leather mattress on the floor; she has a broad feathered bed which is so soft that lying in it must feel almost like sopor.

With any luck, you will be sharing her bed.

As soon as the coastline is a reasonable distance away, she takes you to her quarters. The narrow door closes and she's close to you, kissing her way down your neck as you run your hands down her back. You explore the clothes she's wearing: less showy and more practical than the clothes she wore over the past few days, but nonetheless showing off her sign and her assets beautifully. You get to work on the buttons and expose patches of her skin as she sucks on your neck and buries her hands in your hair.

It's usually like that in the morning: You undress her, then take off your own clothes. She'll touch you, but never do the work for you. She'll let you pleasure her, but rarely return the favour. She's never touched your horns. Her stamina has barely increased. You always have to make yourself pail.

But then, you are her slave. She told you on your first night that you were a person, not a toy. And yet she keeps treating you as a toy more than a person.

You don't complain. Complaining will not get you anything, except a severed head. You value your life. You value your time with her. You know you're lucky to have her - other masters would be far less forgiving and far more cruel.

Your hands are still shaking a little bit as you take off her top. You've never let go of your fear; you doubt you ever will. She smiles and kisses you, momentarily distracting you from your duties.

When she pulls away, you worm a hand into her trousers, finding her half-unsheathed bulge and her nook already weeping with arousal. You work her trousers off. She's naked in all her glory before you, and you lean in to steal a small kiss before starting to strip yourself.

She watches you eagerly, and as soon as you're naked, her hand is on your bulge. You groan and grind into her hand. One of your hands finds her nook and starts rubbing gentle circles on it. You carefully push her backwards and lie her down on the bed gently, your hand still at her nook.

You're surprised when her bulge wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand away from her nook. You look up, meet her eyes, questioning.

"I want to do it the other way this time," she says softly. You understand. You move closer to her. So far, it's always been her inside of you; this time, the roles will be reversed. You find yourself shivering in anticipation, more than you probably should. She notices and laughs quietly. Her bulge carefully wraps around yours and guides you inside her. You groan into her mouth as you sink into her.

She's soft and warm and feels better than anything you've hoped for. You let her take the initiative, though, and she starts to rock down on you. You gasp, pleasure shooting through your body. You almost forget to take care of her bulge as she envelops you with her heat, but you remember in time and wrap your hand around it. Her face is hidden in your shoulder; you can feel her smile against your skin.

You move your bulge inside her and she gasps in response. The noises she makes are beautiful; you could swear you've never seen a more splendid sight than her becoming undone by your administrations. And this time, she takes longer; you can actually feel yourself getting closer to the edge before she's even shown any signs of pailing.

It makes you inexplicably happy. She grinds down on you, pacing up her rhythm slightly, and you keep up eagerly, moving your hand on her bulge in the same way. She moans softly. You kiss her. Her tongue wraps around yours and for a moment, you forget where you are. You blindly fumble for a bucket and she pushes it into your hands.

She pails first, but this time, you follow moments after her. She holds you, rides out the pleasure, her nails digging into your skin, her lips marking your shoulders.

You roll over, completely drained, but happy. Usually, you take care of her after sex. This time, you can feel her fingers in your hair, stroking your scalp. You lean in to her, eyes closed, and purr softly into her skin.

It's the first time you've purred in her presence. The first time you felt fully comfortable around her. You're sure she's aware of that.

She purrs back, still stroking your hair, and wraps her other arm tightly around you. You inch closer to her. Her lips find yours. You kiss lazily, just slowly moving lips against lips. You breathe into each other's mouths.

You're dangerously close to falling asleep. You wish you could. You're warm and content and wrapped around her. You're purring in unison now. She's not even stroking your scalp anymore. You both lie still, basking in each other's warmth.

You manage to crack an eye open. She's watching you, a soft, content smile on her lips.

You return her smile. Words lie on your tongue, words of admiration and appreciation. Words that fumble to express how you feel about her, for it cannot be put into words. It is outside of the quadrants, a mere working relationship.

But how can it be, when you lie together like this?

You swallow your words and say nothing. It is not your place.

For the first time, you wish she wasn't your master. You wish you'd met her elsewhere, when you were still a free woman. You wish you didn't belong to her the way you do now.

You wish you could strip off your status as slave. You wish you could just be with her, without restrictions and rules and fear and distrust. You wish you could be her matesprit without having to be her slave.

You think that if you weren't the mother of the Signless, if you weren't the Marquise's slave, and you had met her under different circumstances, you would have deep scarlet feelings for her. You think that under other circumstances, you would have a good chance of winning her over.

You look into her eyes and do not see the answer there. She looks back, still smiling sleepily. Her eightfold vision seems to gaze right into your soul. For some reason, that thought doesn't unsettle you nearly as much as it should.


	4. Chapter 4

You are interrupted, you don't know how much later, by a hesitant knock on the door.

Mindfang sits up, but her hand on your shoulder tells you you should keep lying down.

"What is it?" she asks. You envy her ability to make her voice sound bored, void of the sleepiness and annoyance you feel right now.

"My lady," comes the voice from outside the room. You know the voice; it's one of her male slaves. "A ship has been sighted. Our helmsman believes it to be the Orphaner."

"I'll be there in a minute."

Steps move away from the door. She turns to you.

"Get dressed," she tells you. "This should be very interesting."

You nod and sit up. Just before you can leave her side, though, she leans in and kisses you. Sweet. Innocent. The way she only is after sex.

"You are wonderful, Mary," she tells you earnestly.

It's the most sincere compliment you've received from her. You blush and look down, smiling.

"So are you, my lady."

Your words are rewarded with another kiss.

You help her put on her clothes, then get dressed yourself. You follow her to the upper deck of the ship. You can see another ship in the distance. Even in the pale light of the moons, you can see that its sails and flag are stained purple.

You subtly keep an eye on the Marquise. As the strange ship approaches, she loses every bit of softness she had minutes ago with you; her lips are graced with a cruel smile, her eyes are hard.

She turns to you. You remember your fear.

"This is the lead ship of Orphaner Dualscar's fleet," she tells you. "Dualscar is my kismesis. I haven't seen him in nearly half a sweep. Our chance encounters tend to be... rough."

You have heard of Orphaner Dualscar, many sweeps ago. Then, he was said to be a cruel and unforgiving sea dweller who would haunt the shores in his ships, killing the lusi of unsuspecting wrigglers. This practice gave him his name: the Orphaner.

Back then, he was little more than a myth. You are about to meet him in person. The fact that he is the Marquise's kismesis only serves to highten your fear.

She sees the fear in your eyes. Her gaze softens a little bit and she puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Dualscar is manipulative and vile, and he will take a keen interest in you," she says softly. "He is my kismesis, but he's always been jealous of my redrom partners. At the moment, that's you. He will try to intimidate you and trick you. Do not answer him. Do not talk to him at all."

You nod.

"I have long ago forbidden him to touch any of my slaves, but he will touch you anyway," she says. "Let him look at your blood. Don't defy him, it will end badly for you. But when you can, stay as close to me as possible."

It will not always be possible. You don't know how long your encounter with the Orphaner will last, but since he is Mindfang's kismesis, you don't think it will be over in a hurry.

"You will have to move your things to one of the servants' rooms," she tells you. "He will not allow you to stay with me."

"I will pack up immediately, my lady." You've barely had a chance to unpack, so it won't take long. You turn to leave, but are held back by her hand on your arm.

"I'm going to miss you, Mary," she says gently. Her eyes are soft, though her mouth is set in a straight line. "He will try to poison you against me. Do not let him."

"He will not succeed, my lady." You hope it's the truth. It's so much easier to serve without doubt, to love without suspicion.

The faintest hint of a smile around the corners of her mouth. She pulls you close and kisses you.

You hope Dualscar's arrival will not change things between her and you too much. You loved the Mindfang you saw earlier, the one you held in your arms. You long to see her again.

She called you her 'redrom partner'.

Not for the first time, you wonder how she actually feels about you. If you are more to her than a slave she takes advantage of.

 

 

The Marquise is a pirate. When you sailed with the Signless, you preached to the people you met. Mindfang's goals are to conquer and steal. It can be seen in the way she interacts with the Orphaner's crew as the two ships meet.

Two trolls are dead within minutes. You stay by her side fearfully. It takes some effort from her and her captain to restore order. She has not come, she declares to Dualscar's crew, to steal his treasures or fight his fleet. His fighters stand down. Hers remain wary.

Eventually, the Orphaner himself emerges. He calls his crew back and makes sure they stay on his ship. The Marquise gestures for her crew to do the same. She seems to have more control over her people than him; to what extend that can be credited to mind control, you dare not guess.

The Orphaner is tall, his face full of arrogance and malice. His eyes are on the Marquise.

"I did not hope to see you so soon," she says. Her voice is cold, her face betraying no emotions. He smiles and his smile is even more malicious than the most devilish of grins she can conjure.

"It pleases me that I have managed to surprise you," he says.

She narrows her eyes to dangerous slits. "When we last met, we agreed we would not track each other anymore. Specifically, I remember you requesting it. You felt somewhat - restrained by the attention I was giving you." Her voice is almost triumphant. She's mocking him. You resist the impulse to smile. "I have honoured that agreement, hence I did not see you coming. And yet here you are, ambushing us just after the shore has gone behind the horizon. It makes me wonder about your honesty."

"Meeting you here was merely a coincidence," Dualscar says. You think to yourself that he is a terrible liar.

The Marquise seems to have similar thoughts.

"I despise liars, Dualscar," she says quietly, dangerously. If she had not told you that he was her kismesis, you would have known now at the very latest. The caliginous tension is impossible to miss. He simply laughs.

"You had business ashore, then," he says.

"Yes," she simply says. It infuriates him. You can tell that he wants her to tell him what exactly she did. He wants her to be under his thumb, and he's furious that she isn't.

For the first time, his eyes flicker to you. You hold his gaze steadily. He is not your master. You do not have to bow to him.

"I can see you brought back a pretty ornament," he taunts. She doesn't take his bait.

"Mary is my consort, and you will respect her," she simply says.

"You're still playing your games, then?" he asks cynically. You don't know what games he's referring to. You refuse to speculate. He looks straight at you, eyeing you up shamelessly.

"You know she's just using you," he says, talking directly to you. "You know she's controlling you, right? You're nothing to her."

You stare back impassively. You try not to let his words get to you. _He'll try to poison you against me_ , she said.

When you don't answer, he turns back to the Marquise. "Does - Mary talk?"

"She speaks," she says coolly. "But not to you."

"She a new one, then?" He sounds careless. "You don't tell your new ones about that whole mind control thing, do you? You keep it a secret from them until they find out from others. A despicable policy, really, coming from someone who claims to value honesty."

He's good at it, you realise. He's good at winding her up. Good at making her blood boil with every word he says. It's probably the only reason why she deems him worthy of kismesisitude. Earlier, when you moved your things into the servants' quarters, you heard the crew talk: Mindfang is better than Dualscar, in almost every way, and she despises him for everything that he is. His verbal attacks are a feeble attempt at revenge for her raiding and stealing from him at almost every opportunity.

Mindfang doesn't answer him. Instead, she turns to her captain.

"The Orphaner and I have business to attend to," she tells him. "See that we are not disturbed."

Everyone knows that by business, she means sex. You find yourself oddly resenting the idea. Over the past few nights, you have gotten so used to her presence that the thought of someone else in her arms makes you feel ill. You know she will not hold you for as long as the Orphaner demands her attention. You know that if you weren't her slave, the situation would be different; as your matesprit, she would feel obliged to dedicate just as much time and attention to you as him, and you would be okay with that. But you are her slave, and you know Dualscar will never surrender any of her affections to a mere slave.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for attempted rape.

 

It's almost dawn when he finds you. You were just about to get ready for bed. He strolls into the servants' quarters as if they belong to him. He locates you with a single look and nods for you to come over.

You don't comply. He's not your master.

Seconds later, he's at your side, taking your arm.

"Walk with me, Mary," he says. It's kinder than you expected, closer to a request than a command. You reluctantly let him drag you outside.

There's a warmer wind now blowing on the deck. The sky is turning pink. Soon, you'll be exposed to the merciless sun. By then, you hope to be in bed.

"Let me look at you," he says. You don't resist as he turns you over, raises your head. He's like a merchant who's looking at a goat he might buy. You meet his eyes defiantly, still saying nothing. As he examines you, you let your gaze wander over his features as well; you notice bite marks on his jaw and neck. They're fresh, still glittering faintly with purple blood. He doesn't seem to be bothered by them at all.

He draws a knife. You don't flinch; you trust he would not murder you here, in plain sight, in front of several crewmembers. He takes your arm and cuts you, watches in fascination as blood oozes out of the shallow cut. You grit your teeth against the pain. You will not give him the satisfaction of hearing any noise from you.

"A jadeblood," he says, more to himself than you. "Interesting."

He tucks the knife away.

"Now how would a woman of your caste come into the service of Spinneret Mindfang?"

He's not honestly expecting an answer to that. You grow only mildly alarmed: few people know that the mother of the Sufferer was a jadeblood, and you do not expect Dualscar to be among them. Still, you remain alert.

"Is she good to you, Mary?" he asks softly. "Does she treat you well? You're her consort; you know that's only a glorified word for sex slave. Does she satisfy you? Does she take care of you?"

She would be doing all these things right now, you think, if he wasn't here.

You carefully keep any emotions off your face. You will not give him the satisfaction of seeing that he's getting to you.

"You're very loyal to her," he observes. "Did you know about the mind control, then, before I mentioned it earlier? I suppose you must have - slaves love to gossip, and it's difficult to keep them quiet, even with her powers." He's standing too close now. You want to push him away. You wonder if it's something the higher classes have in common - invading the personal space of sex slaves, even if they haven't had sex with them yet. Even if they're not even their own.

"Haven't you wondered how much of what you're doing is your own doing, and how much is hers?"

Of course you have. Does he take you for an idiot?

He chuckles quietly when you simply stare at him.

"She's probably warned you about me," he says. "And she's right, I'm no good man. But unlike her, I've never pretended to be good. You see, she keeps going on about honesty. I am a much more honest troll than she will ever be." He leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your cheek. "I don't control my slaves' minds. I control them by fear. She's instilled actual loyalty in you, hasn't she? Maybe even love - red feelings? A slave, having red feelings for her mistress. You know it's not unheard of. But you also know it always ends in tragedy."

How does he expect you to know these things? You're not a highblood, you don't have time to waste with fanciful romantic stories. The only romance you've ever cared about (apart from your own) was that of your son, and it has inspired thousands. It was not, however, a relationship to model others by.

You still don't know what became of your son's matesprit. You doubt you'll ever find out.

"Tragedy," Dualscar goes on, "for the slave, naturally. The master will simply cast them aside and take a new one. It's what she does, Mary. You aren't the first, and you won't be the last."

You're aware of that. You don't think about it too much. It's the way things are.

He looks at you. He hasn't managed to coax any visible reaction out of you. He looks vaguely disappointed.

"You may go," he tells you coldly. "Expect me to find you again."

It's a threat. You have every intention of telling Mindfang every word he's said. It will be difficult, if not almost impossible, to avoid him completely. But if the Marquise is aware that he threatened you, she may be a little more protective.

You don't leave. You show defiance by leaning against the railing and watching the sunrise. You've never hated daylight as much as many of your peers. You wait for him to leave. Eventually, he gives up with a sigh, and goes below deck. You don't smile. You haven't won.

 

 

He's waiting for you. He ambushes you just as you are about to go to bed. He presses you against the wall, his fingers around your throat.

You still haven't made a noise. You've even managed to suppress a gasp when he jumped at you from the dark. You can't keep the fear off your face, though. He's too close. Too close.

He might kill you. He might rape you. He might beat you bloody and leave you to die.

"I'll teach you to defy a highblood," he hisses. "When I say come, you come. When I say go, you go. Is that understood?"

You say nothing. You do not nod nor shake your head. You are scared for your life, but your life is not the most precious thing you have to lose. And you will not disobey the Marquise's orders.

He slaps you across the face and you can't help a low whimper. Your lip splits, you taste your own blood.

"You answer me when I talk to you," he growls.

You defiantly stay silent.

She's warned you. She's told you not to defy him. By refusing to go when he told you to leave, you have incurred his wrath. And every little defiance you show him now only serves to make him angrier.

You're close to crew quarters, so he can't be too loud, lest he might be heard. He's more dangerous when he's quiet, you think.

"Answer me," he hisses.

In response to your silence, he hits you again, harder this time. You barely have time to recover from the hit. He starts tearing off your trousers.

You remain impassive. He's going to rape you. There's nothing you can do; if you fight him now, it will mean certain death. You consider it only for a moment. It would spare you the humiliation. It would end your tragic life.

It would mean leaving everything behind that you fought for. You remember her in the morning. You remember her fingers combing through your hair. You remember the smell of her skin and the sound of her purr.

You feel tears running down your cheeks as he touches you roughly.

You barely register him slipping down his own trousers. His bulge touches you, tries to coax yours from its sheath. To your horror, you can feel your body reacting to him. You hear his cruel laugh.

And suddenly he is gone. You barely dare to look as you hear him being slammed into the wall opposite you. You know her scent.

She's angry, angrier than you've ever seen her.

"You don't touch my slaves, Dualscar," she snaps. "How many times? How many? Do I have to leave you tied up in my quarters so you don't go molesting my consort? Do I have to teach you, once again, the meaning of respect?"

Mary is my consort, she said. You will respect her.

"You admit she's a slave, then," he croaks. The force of the blow she deals him echoes through the hallway.

"You will not speak to me in that tone," she hisses.

He grows even colder than he was before.

"And who are you to give me commands? Your blood is -"

He's silenced by another blow. He spits blood.

"I can take you apart with a snap of my fingers and you know it," she snarls.

"She wanted it, Mindfang," he growls. He gestures to you, frozen in place, unable to tear your eyes from the unfolding scenario. "Look at her, look at her bulge. She wanted it."

Your bulge is indeed still half unsheathed. You grit your teeth. For the first time, you see uncertainty flicker over her features.

"Did you, Mary?" she asks you.

You can't bring yourself to answer.

"I could share her with you for the duration of your stay," she tells Dualscar, suddenly a lot calmer. "You know you can't have her for yourself. But if that's what you desire, we shall find a way to accommodate you."

You can feel the fear rising in your chest again. Just because she will be there doesn't mean she'll prevent him from hurting you.

She turns to you.

"Is this what you want, Mary?" she asks quietly.

You look at her for a long moment before you find your voice again.

"It would be unwise to refuse, my lady," you whisper.

"Why are you even asking her," Dualscar scoffs. She ignores him.

"And would you refuse?" she asks you.

For a few long seconds that stretch to eternity, there's nothing but silence.

You close your eyes. To hell with it.

"Yes," you whisper.

Dualscar starts laughing. "I can see why you like her."

Her eyes are still holding your gaze. Without looking at him, her fingers lock around his throat.

"Leave, Dualscar," she says. "I don't want to see your disgusting face in my presence."

He's clever enough to take her seriously this time. He's gone in a second.

An instant later, she's close to you. She refastens your trousers. She rubs her thumbs over your tears. It's all you can do not to collapse into her arms.

"Mary, Mary," she whispers. "What did you do?"

You know she's not really expecting an anwer, but you give one anyway.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I'm so sorry."

"Shh." She brushes your hair away from your face. Her fingers ghosting over your split lip. "It's okay, Mary. He won't hurt you again. It's okay."

"I'm sorry." You're not crying anymore. For the first time, you're vaguely aware of her presence within your mind. She makes you stand up straight.

"He won't hurt me again," you whisper by her administrations.

You're grateful for her mind control. You wouldn't know what to do without it.

"Go to bed, Mary," she says quietly. "I'll deal with the Orphaner. You don't have to get up tomorrow if you don't feel like it. I'll come and see you."

You sense that you can choose your own words now. "Thank you, my lady," you whisper.

She wraps an arm around your waist and supports you with her body and her mind as she takes you to the servant quarters. She leaves you outside, but guides you with her mind and makes you fall asleep almost instantly.

 


	6. Chapter 6

You drag yourself out of bed in time for breakfast. The Marquise is no longer in control of your mind. You know because as soon as she withdrew, the nightmares began.

He didn't get far, but you fear this encounter will haunt you for weeks.

She's given you permission to take the night off, but you take breakfast as usual, just in case the Orphaner is still around. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crippled.

It turns out you needn't have worried. The Orphaner left before the sun was down; the official story is that he had some urgent business to attend to and therefore could not stay. You hear the gossip over breakfast. The slaves don't believe it and neither do the crew. Some say he stole something of value, some say he wasn't able to please the Marquise in bed. Those who sleep near the place where your encounter at sunrise happened tell of the things they heard in hushed voices. The only thing anyone knows for certain is that she was angry at him for some reason.

You keep your head down as you eat your breakfast. You don't say anything. You don't want them to suspect your own involvement in this.

She comes for you shortly after breakfast. You follow her to her room without saying a word.

You don't quite know what to expect. The door slams shut behind you. She keeps her distance.

You're grateful for it. You don't know how you would handle her invading your privacy only hours after Dualscar tried to force himself on you.

"Sit," she commands.

You come and sit on her bed across from her. You are unable to read her expression and it makes you nervous.

"Tell me what happened."

You start recounting the details. How he came to find you just before you wanted to go to bed. How he took you to the deck and asked you about her. You don't leave out anything. His questions about her treatment of you and her mind control. Even his assumptions regarding your feelings for her. You tell her of him grabbing your arm, his stray touches on your chin, on your neck.

You tell her how he told you to leave and you didn't. She seems to be torn between a frown and a smile.

"You defied him even though I told you not to," she says.

"I'm sorry, my lady."

"I would have done the same in your place," she says gently. "That doesn't mean it was right. You know you shouldn't have. I won't punish you for it, because I feel you've already been punished more than enough. I trust that if - and when - we run into him again, you won't be as foolish."

"I won't, my lady."

She smiles.

You hesitate.

"Did you break off your kismesisitude with him?" you ask softly, almost afraid of her reaction.

She gives a cold, harsh laugh. "Gods, no. He's vile and despicable and he disgusts me, but he won't get rid of me this easily. And you know I can't end a relationship like that because of a servant, however much said servant may mean to me." She smiles. "He already implied I went too far, doing what I did. I'm not expected to protect my slaves like that, and he's far too used to just taking what he wants."

You're not sure what to say. You're not sure what to make of her words. You simply nod.

"So, the mind control thing," she then says. "Did you know before he said?"

"Yes," you say. "I heard the others talking."

"And does it bother you?"

"It did at first," you answer. "Now, I'm not so sure."

Her eyes ask you to elaborate.

"You helped me with it last night," you explain hesitantly. "I don't think I would have been able to sleep without it."

She smiles. "You're welcome."

"It was the first time I actually noticed you doing it. You must be very subtle at other times."

"Have you considered that I may not be doing it at all at other times?"

You have. You think it's highly unlikely.

"I'm sure you're skilled enough that I wouldn't be able to tell the difference," you say.

She laughs softly. "I'm not controlling you, Mary."

For now, you choose to believe her.

"What about your feelings for me, then?" she asks. "Was he right, do you have red feelings for me?"

You admire her for being able to ask so bluntly. You consider your answer before you actually say anything.

"I believe I do, my lady."

There's really no other way to describe it. You're still scared of her sometimes. But you find yourself craving her presence more and more, and you've caught yourself daydreaming about an impossible future with her. You want to be her matesprit.

You love her.

She sighs and holds out her arms to you. You give yourself into her embrace willingly. She strokes your hair and kisses the top of your head, between your horns.

"You know we can't be matesprits," she whispers. "You're my slave, so I can't... as much as I would like to."

You look up into her eyes. She's hinted at this before, but...

"You would?" Your voice is barely audible.

She smiles in such a genuine, affectionate way that you can't help but believe her. "My dear," she says. "It would be very difficult to be around you and not fall for you."

You don't know what to say. You've spent so much time wondering about her feelings for you... and here she is, admitting that she's as flushed for you as you are for her.

You lean in and kiss her tenderly. She responds after a second, burying her hands in your hair and pulling you closer. You can feel her smile into the kiss.

It's hard to believe this is actually happening. Less than a month ago, you were still walking with the Signless, with barely any hope of forming any significant romantic bond with anyone. You had your lovers during that time, but you never stayed in one place long enough to fill any quadrant. It didn't matter then; you had everything you needed.

Since then, your beloved son was executed, his followers scattered, you were sold into slavery. You were lucky to find a kind mistress. And now, your mistress is as close to being your matesprit as she will ever be.

You decide to forget your pain. Your son is dead and mourning him will not bring him back. You know enough of his followers to know that his teachings will be kept alive in secret; you know you have no further part in his life.

Instead, you are now a major part of hers.

She kisses a trail down your neck and you lean in to her, fisting your hands into her hair. Her fingers slip beneath your shirt. When she starts pushing it up, you still.

She draws back immediately. "What's wrong?"

You hold her. You want her close. But not that close.

"I - I don't know if I want - after what Dualscar..."

She utters a soft curse and draws you close.

"He'll never hurt you again, Mary," she whispers. "I will kill him if he touches you again."

Somehow, you don't doubt for a second that she would. It's oddly reassuring.

You kiss her. You lose yourself in the kiss. You let yourself fall, fall into her, fall for her, blindly trusting that she'll catch you. Her tongue playfully runs over your lower lip and you chase it down.

You're not scared. You won't be scared anymore.

She draws back but holds you close. Your foreheads and noses are touching. You feel her breath on your lips. You feel her smile and carefully open your eyes.

"Who would have thought," she whispers. "That I would ever have these kinds of feelings for one of my slaves."

You touch her cheek. Her eyes flutter open and focus on you.

Something stirs in the back of your mind. Something Dualscar said... _still playing your games. You aren't the first. You're nothing to her._

"Have you never had these feelings for any of your former consorts, then?" you ask shyly.

Her expression doesn't change at all.

"I may have had feelings for a few of them," she admits lightly. "But never like this. Never this much."

"What happened to them?" You barely dare to ask.

"Why do you want to know?" She draws back. Her face is no longer touching yours; her hand travels down and takes yours, interlacing your fingers. You squeeze it lightly.

"I want to know what will happen to me," you say softly. "Did you grow tired of their company and disposed of them? Will you grow tired of me?"

You're not scared; you won't be scared again.

You just don't want to lose her.

"I've never loved any of my consorts more than you," she says earnestly. "I doubt I will grow tired of you. And even if I do, I will not dispose of you. We could spend a long time together, Mary. We could live long lives together."

You don't doubt she means it. You're still holding her hand. You lean in and kiss her.

"I would like that, I think," you whisper.

It occurs to you that you've only known her for a few days.

It doesn't matter. You love her.

She kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. She can't seem to get enough of you. You laugh quietly into her mouth. You know the feeling.

One of her hands is wandering upwards from your neck as she continues kissing you. She stills when her fingertips reach your horn, though, and pulls away.

"Is this okay?" she asks, brushing her fingers gently against the base of your horn.

You let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding.

"I think so," you whisper.

He didn't touch your horns.

She's never touched your horns before.

You moan softly as her fingers curl around the base of your horn, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You arch in to her touch and reach up to her horns, eager to reciprocate.

She pulls away a little bit so her horns are out of your reach.

"This is for you, Mary," she says earnestly.

You pull her down into a kiss.

"It's not right," you whisper, "I'm your slave -"

"Right now, you are my matesprit. And I want to do this."

Her words fill you with happiness. She leans down and kisses you gently, sweetly, as she keeps rubbing your horns. You can feel your bulge pressing against the inside of your trousers, straining to be touched.

She notices, of course, and stills again.

"What do you want?"

You pull her closer. It's like Dualscar never touched you. She's here, she's touching you, and you never want her to stop.

"You," you say. "All of you."

She chuckles and presses a kiss to your lips.

"Are you sure?"

You hold on to her tightly, pressing your body to hers.

"All of you," you whisper.

She gets to work immediately, pushing up your shirt to reveal your naked torso. She lovingly runs her hands down your sides, brushing your breasts with her thumbs. She presses a kiss to your shoulder and leaves one in the middle of your chest. Her horns tickle your chin. She pushes you backwards gently until you're lying down completely.

She kisses down your front until she reaches your hips. She takes off your trousers and takes a moment to look at you, lying on the bed naked.

"You're beautiful," she whispers. "You're so, so beautiful."

You lean up and watch her as she strips for you. She takes her time, making sure you get the best view of her body.

Your bulge is winding itself pathetically, wanting wanting wanting.

She climbs back onto the bed and spreads your legs slightly as she kneels down between them. Her hands are roaming your body again. You whimper softly. You want her. Her hand moves down and wraps itself around your bulge.

You moan as she touches you, reverently, as if your body is something holy to worship and make love to. Her hand moves around your bulge and she leans down to kiss the edge of your hip, down towards your thigh.

You can guess what she wants to do. It makes you even more aroused even though you were quite sure that wasn't possible until now. It's rare to find people who are willing to do this; most trolls aren't comfortable to have someone else's sharp teeth so close to their sensitive nook. But you trust her. You want her. All of her.

Your nook is soaking wet already, and you shiver in anticipation as she kisses her way down your thigh, closer and closer to your nook. She drops a soft kiss to the underside of your bulge and you whine, longing to have her closer.

Her tongue darts out, cleaning the soft skin around your nook from your juices. She presses a kiss directly to your nook, then her tongue worms its way inside of you.

Her hand is still around your bulge, keeping it occupied, keeping it out of the way. You gasp and moan and writhe under her administrations as her tongue delves deeper into your nook, carefully exploring and tasting everything you have to offer.

"Oh God," you whisper. "Don't stop, don't stop..."

You lose yourself in the pleasure and barely realise when she replaces her tongue with her hand, going deeper than before. She shifts closer to you, on top of you. Her bulge touches yours. You groan and wind your bulge around hers. She takes her hand out of your nook to make room for her bulge, and you carefully guide her inside.

For a moment, you simply marvel at how perfect it feels, how beautifully she fills you. Then her bulge starts moving, her hips rocking against yours, and you forget everything.

Under her careful administrations, you come apart moments later. She has the bucket ready and steadies you as you pail into it. She presses a kiss to your head. You are still half delirious, but you slip your hand between her legs and find her nook. You know her well enough to know what she likes, how to make her pail within seconds; she muffles her shout in your shoulder as she pails.

You put the bucket on the floor and pull her closer. She's all that matters now. You lie on her bed facing each other, your arms and legs intertwined.

"I love you," you whisper.

She smiles and reaches up to push a sweaty strand of hair from your face. She kisses you. You can taste your own juices on her tongue.

You silently vow to repay her for this a thousandfold. You're her slave. She doesn't have to do this. And yet she just made you climax in the most wonderful way possible.

You kiss her again. You let your tongue wander over her lips and through her mouth until the last trace of your own taste is gone. She purrs into your mouth and curls up against you.

Almost without realising it, you start purring as well. You hold her and you close your eyes. No words are necessary.

Her purrs slowly fade out as she falls asleep, and you follow shortly after.


	7. Chapter 7

You sleep in her bed every day after that night.

She holds you in her arms, just like you hold her. The first thing you see when you wake up is her. Sometimes she wakes you up with a kiss. You start the nights with gentle and lazy morning sex. You take breakfast together. You barely leave her side.

Whenever she attacks and raids other ships, she makes sure you're safe. She gives you gifts from the things she's acquired: precious gems and golden necklaces. You rarely wear them, but you are grateful nonetheless.

She comes back to you one night and puts something into your hand that feels like another necklace. She closes your fingers around the cool metal.

"I thought you might like this," she says.

You look at the necklace. It's a simple chain made from silver. What's truly remarkable about it is that the pendant hanging from it is the sign of the Sufferer.

You look up. You didn't realise she knew the sign.

"Of course, I have absolutely no idea what it means, I just thought it would suit you," she says with a grin. Her smile says she knows, but she doesn't want people to know that she does. You smile and go along with it.

"It's unlike any symbol I've ever seen before," you say. The pendant weighs in your hand, cold and dark. It's not made from silver, you realise; it's iron.

"Thank you," you whisper. "It's beautiful."

She leans in to kiss you.

"You know you mustn't wear this in public," she says softly. "Few people know the sign, but enough of them are dangerous, and we run into all sorts of people. The chain should be long enough for your clothes to conceal the symbol."

She gently takes the necklace out of your hands and fastens it around your neck. Her fingers trail down as she kisses the back of your neck softly.

"It looks good on you," she says as she turns you around and looks at you.

You will never take it off again.

"He was my son." The words find their way to your lips unbidden and you are almost startled by them. Not scared, though. You haven't been scared since the Orphaner left.

You trust her. Fully and completely.

"Really?" She looks surprised, but not appalled.

"Yes. I raised him."

"I didn't realise," she whispers. "I barely know you, Mary... though that's not your name, is it?"

"No," you mumble. "But I like it when you call me that." You've gotten used to it. It may as well be your name. You don't want her to start calling you by your real name.

She touches your cheek absent-mindedly; she seems to be deep in thought.

"They called her the Dolorosa," she whispers. "The mother of the Signless..."

You keep quiet. You're not sure where she's going with this.

"His first follower," she says. "She stayed with him until the very end. They say she held him when he died..."

She opens her eyes. You are close to tears.

"Did you?"

You will never forget the moment all his suffering transformed into rage. You stood and watched as he burned. You felt him die.

You did not hold him as the light went out of his eyes.

"No," you whisper. "They wouldn't let me touch him... I had to watch as they burned his body."

"Oh." Her thumb absently strokes your cheek. "I like the story better."

You withdraw. You fight the tears.

"His story was my life, Mindfang," you say. Your voice is shaking.

She looks at you. Her smile is gone; you get the feeling she's really looking at you, really seeing you, for the first time since you started this conversation.

"I'm sorry, Mary," she says. She inches closer, and you let her in. She brushes back your hair. "I'm sorry. You know I love stories. I didn't mean... of course this is a sore subject for you."

You don't say anything.

"His is a very enticing story," she adds.

"You'd do well to remember that it actually happened," you say.

She is silent for a moment. You can tell that she's debating whether to reprimand you for your tone. You're still her slave. You have no right to talk to her like that.

And yet you trust her not to throw you out for something like that.

And indeed she seems to decide to let it pass.

"I'm sorry," she says again. "Let's not talk of it again."

You know she considers that the end of the conversation. You nod quickly and don't resist as she pulls you close to kiss you.

In all the time you've spent with her, this is the closest you've ever gotten to fighting with her.

Neither of you ever mentions the Sufferer again, but you always wear his sign underneath your clothes.

 

 

Months pass on the sea. You get to know her better. You spend your days and nights with her. You know she has flaws, but each flaw just serves to make you love her more.

Blind with love, you will realise later. Blinded by love, you don't see her for what she really is. She's never anything but gentle and kind to you. She pleasures you and holds you when you sleep. She kisses you in the evening and she shares her food with you.

Blind to everything but her, you don't see the looks the other servants give you. Those who have been in her service for long know her better than you. They look at you with pity in their eyes, but you don't see them.

You are too busy being happy to even consider that your happiness might not last forever.

 

 

One night, just before you go to bed at dawn, she tells you she has news.

"We're going back to the mainland," she says. "We've already set course, we'll be there in a few nights."

"You've got business ashore, then?"

"Unfortunately," she says. "I love the sea, it doesn't feel right to walk on land. But what must be done must be done."

You smile. You love the sea, but you're looking forward to being able to walk on land again. It's been months and you've grown accustomed to everything on the ship (though your life mostly revolves around her these nights), but you can't deny that the thought of sleeping in sopor again makes you feel excited, even longing.

You will have your own room again, though you somehow doubt you'll use it much.

"Also, we'll probably hear from Dualscar again. He's been tracking us lately. He'll probably come ashore a few nights after us," she says. "I have business in the city, so I may not be able to protect you at all times. Hopefully I'll know about his arrival before it happens."

"Okay." You're a little disappointed that you won't be coming with her to her city business, but then you suppose she has a life you don't know about. It would probably be boring: buying and selling of the things she acquired, repairs for the ship, and whatever other irons she may have in the fire. It doesn't concern you too much.

"I'll be a lot more busy ashore, so I guess we should make the best out of our last few nights at sea," she says with a smirk. You return her smile and lean in to kiss her.

 

 

Three nights later, the ship docks. It's the same harbour, even the same place where it was anchored when you left the shore months ago. Her mansion sits tall and proud only a spear's throw away from the sea. She holds your hand as you step off the ship, and throws a supporting arm around your waist as you stagger. The ground seems to tip from one side to the other, and you're halfway through wondering how that can be when she laughs quietly in your ear.

"Sea legs, huh? You're not the only one." She seems to be a bit wobbly as well, and you can see some of her other slaves having trouble walking straight. Though that could also be the effect of the alcohol a lot of them drank in the morning. You lean in to her and she drops a quick kiss to the top of your head.

"Let's move in, then, shall we?"

She celebrates her coming back ashore with a big feast for her, her business partners in the city and her servants. You're not used to so many people together anymore, so you mostly sit by her side shyly and don't speak much. The food is exquisite, much better than the stuff you had at sea.

You can't help but notice that when she introduces you to people, she refers to you as her consort.

In the last months on her ship, you were her matesprit. On the ship, you were almost equal to her. You were waited upon and bowed to by the new slaves she stole from other ships. Once, a raid had almost gone wrong, and two men found you in the place you used to hide during raids (she didn't want to put you in the line of fire); they didn't do anything to you, but she had them publicly executed for threatening her matesprit.

That was her wording then. Now, you're just her consort.

You haven't thought of Dualscar in a long time, but in this moment, you remember what he said: _You're her consort. You know that's just a glorified word for sex slave._

You're alone with her in her room a few hours later. She takes off your clothes and kisses you. You hesitate as you lean in. She notices your hesitation.

"Are you okay?"

For a moment, you're tempted to leave it alone. Just say you're tired, that's all. But she's caressing your cheek, she's just as sweet and gentle as she always was on the ship.

And she values honesty.

"You said consort," you whisper. "When you introduced me to all those people... you said consort."

For a moment, you almost think you can see something resembling uncertainty on her face. The moment passes as soon as it comes.

"It's just a formality," she says. "Don't let it bother you, Mary. On the ship, we were isolated. But rumours spread fast in the city. It wouldn't be fit for me to take one of my slaves as my matesprit."

She said the same thing on the ship, all those months ago. Then, she defied the rules and made you her matesprit anyway.

Now, she's worried about her reputation.

"I understand," you breathe. She kisses the disappointment from your lips. After a second, you respond, winding your arms around her neck.

"It doesn't mean anything will change," she promises softly. "You're still my matesprit."

You feel somewhat reassured and pull her towards you.

She sinks into your arms as you pull her on top of you. She makes love to you in the same earnest, gentle fashion as she always did on the ship. She licks your concerns from your lips and worships your body. She curls in to you and purrs afterwards, arms tight around your body. At the break of day, you lie with her in her sopor cocoon; you hold her as she falls asleep.

And you allow yourself to believe her. Nothing will change. You're still her matesprit.


	8. Chapter 8

You are proven wrong.

She leaves early the next evening; you wake up and she's gone. For the first time in months, you get ready for the night without her.

She's left instructions for you: you are not to leave the mansion unless it is absolutely necessary. She'll be back long after midnight, she expects to take dinner with you.

You feel lost and empty without her. You have too much time on your hands and no one to share it with. For the first time, you realise that apart from her, you haven't made many connections. You know those of her slaves that were on the ship with her, you know their names and what they do, but you've rarely spoken to any of them.

You've never been away from the Marquise long enough to have the opportunity.

Most of them are busy, so you pass the time reading. You join the other slaves for your midnight meal.

No one seems particularly keen on talking to you. You ask the cook if she knows what the Marquise is doing in the city.

"Oh, this and that," she answers vaguely. "You'd think that as her consort, you'd know better than me."

The cook was on the ship with you.

"I'm her matesprit," you correct her, confused and mildly irritated at her error.

She looks at you for a moment. There's undisguised pity in her eyes.

"No, you're her consort," she says gently.

"I don't..." You're bewildered. "I don't know what you mean."

She gives you a sad smile and turns away. Any attempt of getting her to tell you what she meant fails.

The Marquise returns a few hours later. You're standing at the side of the entrance hall, waiting to welcome her back.

You remember this room: it was the very first room you saw. The room where she first spoke to you after she bought you.

When she comes in, she's accompanied by a young woman. A slave; her sign is stripped and her clothes worn. You've never seen her before. Mindfang must have bought her in the city tonight.

She hasn't seen you. You're concealed by the shadows. You doubt she knows you're there.

You take a closer look at the slave. She's much younger than you, barely old enough to be considered an adult. She's petite and pretty, but shaking with fear.

Fear of her new mistress. Just like you, months ago.

Mindfang beckons her forwards.

"Are you scared of me?" she asks.

The slave looks into her eyes fearfully, then gives a single, sharp nod.

Mindfang reaches out, touches her jaw.

"I assure you, there is no need."

The slave shies away from Mindfang's touch, but not as much as she ought. The Marquise keeps touching her as she speaks, she keeps her close, and eventually, the slave doesn't even flinch when she touches her.

You remember the first night you were in Mindfang's service, the way she touched you, the way you didn't mind even though you were terrified of her.

It's obvious to you now that she's controlling the mind of her new slave. The poor girl is shaking with fear and would never let anyone touch her in a state like this, much less the subject of her current fear.

It occurs to you that you were manipulated in the same way.

As the Marquise keeps touching her and talking softly to her, you feel a small, but poignant stab of jealousy.

And it occurs to you that she's treating her new slave exactly the same way she treated you.

You, who she bought specifically to be her consort.

She admitted as much.

You know she doesn't use this routine on all her slaves. Plenty of new slaves entered her service during her raids. She took their minds and made them work.

She never touched them.

You only need a moment to figure out what's going on, and it breaks your heart.

You step out of the shadows. You want to confront her. You want to warn her new slave, tell her not to trust her. You want to cry. You want to murder the Marquise.

You're not her matesprit. You're her consort.

A sex slave. Replacable. One of many.

How, how did she ever fool you into believing you had a future with her?

Her new slave is younger. She's prettier. She's probably not as skilled as you are at sex. But her horns angle in a lovely way and you can see what Mindfang sees in her.

You're replacable; you have just been replaced.

You want to scream at her and hit her and kill her. All your flushed feelings for her turn black in an instant.

But as you run towards her, you find you cannot move a muscle.

You stay in the shadows. You are made to watch. You can't move, you can't look away.

You can feel the grasp her mind has on you, and you fight it. You fight her tooth and nail and you can tell from the way she speaks that she's having difficulty controlling you.

She summons another slave to take her new toy up to her quarters. She showed you herself. But back then, she didn't have an angry consort to fight.

At least, you assume she didn't.

The door closes; her new slave is gone. You're exhausted from fighting her. Her mental grip on you slackens, and you find that you can move.

"Come on out then, Mary."

You want to scream and cry and break down at her feet and you want to kill her.

And yet, you find that your eyes remain dry and your voice soft when you speak.

You think it's by your own devices. You can't say for sure.

"He was right," you say.

"Who?" She's almost careless as she leans back. Bored.

"Dualscar," you say, "about you."

She sighs. "I told you he would poison you against me."

"He didn't poison me against you," you snap. "He tried to warn me, and he was right."

"What, and for five months you just ignored his warning and now he's suddenly right just because I bought a new slave?" She's not smiling. She's not taking you too seriously, either. You feel like she thinks you're a wriggler throwing a tantrum.

It makes you angrier. You're close to tears.

"She's not just a new slave," you hiss. "I saw the way you looked at her. The way you touched her. Did you think I would forget how you treated me the first time you saw me? She's your new consort."

"And?" She studies her nails. She's not looking at you. You want to rip her head off. You want to force her to look at you.

"You told me last night I was your matesprit," you say. You can't keep the hurt and anger out of your voice any longer.

"And?" she says again. "I'm an impulse buyer, Mary. She caught my eye. I bought her. I can have more than one consort and you know that. I don't see why you're throwing a big fuss now."

Consort.

You're starting to loathe that word.

You reach out. You want to hurt her. Her mind stays your hand before you can slap her, but this time, you're ready for her.

You get your hand on her face through an immense effort. You grip her chin and tilt it up, forcing her to look at you. Your nails are digging into the thin skin at her jaw.

"You said I was your matesprit," you growl.

She simply looks at you.

"It's all just a game to you, isn't it," you spit. "Just a big fun game. How many redrom partners have you had since you bought me? I was never the only one, was I? You made me think I was special. You made me believe you loved me."

She turns her head and you aren't strong enough to keep your grip on her chin. Your arm falls slack on the side.

"You never loved me, did you," you whisper flatly.

It makes sense. It all makes sense.

The way her touches never seemed to bother you. The way you were attracted to her. She probably manipulated you into agreeing to have sex with her.

Manipulated you into loving her.

And now it can't be undone. You love her. You hate her. You've never experienced feelings this black for anyone.

Who knew it could flip this quickly.

"You weren't supposed to know," she eventually says. She's taking you seriously now. She's cold. She's scaring you again. But you're not scared.

"I wasn't supposed to know so you could play your games in peace," you say, your voice shaking with fury. "Is that what you do, Mindfang? You make your slaves fall in love with you and then ditch them for the next one?"

Her silence is as good as an answer.

You turn to leave. You find once again you cannot move.

"Where do you think you're going?"

She's getting up. Her hand on your shoulder, turning you around.

"Out," you hiss. "Away from you. I can't believe I loved you. I can't believe I let you manipulate me like this."

She silences you with her mind.

"You're not leaving," she says simply.

You wish you could move.

"Mary, listen to me," she says. Her voice is annoyingly gentle. You want to rip her throat out. "This is what I do. I have slaves, I take enjoyment from them. I'm surprised you're so shocked. But if it's any consolation - you are special."

You would snort in disbelief if only she would let you.

"You are," she says, sensing your defiance. "You were the only one for all those months on our ship. You know that you were, you hardly left my side. I've grown used to you. I've never been with anyone else for that long."

She loosens her grip on your mind.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" you snarl. "That you're so messed up that the most stable relationship you've ever had was a few months with a slave you had to manipulate into loving you?"

She grows cold again in an instant.

"I could have your head," she says.

"Then have it," you snap. "Go on, take it yourself. In fact, it's already yours. Are any of the thoughts in my head even mine anymore?"

She silences you again.

"God, I would never have done this if I thought you would get this complicated," she sighs.

Complicated? _Complicated?_

You struggle against her bonds, to no avail.

"You're free to go or stay," she says coldly. "But if you go, you will never look at me again, or I will have you executed."

Suddenly, your mind is free. You want to take your things and leave as soon as you can.

But you can't. This time, it's not her mind control holding you back.

It's your love for her.

You are at her side an instant later. Your fingernails dig into her skull and pull at her hair. You kiss her. You furiously lick your way into her mouth. You bite her lips hard enough to draw blood.

She seems to be surprised for a moment, but then she responds eagerly, pulling you towards her and grazing her teeth over your lower lips. Still testing, not quite biting.

"Could this be something black I'm sensing?" she asks tauntingly. Her breath slides over your tongue infuriatingly soft.

"Shut up," you growl. You're tempted to bite through her tongue. "God, just stop talking."

She grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you away.

It hurts. It doesn't hurt enough.

There's a devilish grin settling on her face. You want to scratch it off.

"You think we'll make it to my room?" she asks.

"Fuck cares," you hiss and sink your teeth into her shoulder. You remember the first time you had sex with her. She reprimanded you for biting. The gesture was gentle then, but still too black.

She doesn't object now. You lick the blood off her skin.

Her blood tastes good. You want to drink more of it.

She pulls away. She keeps you away by physical force rather than mind control, and you find it within yourself to appreciate this tiny shred of dignity she's handing back to you.

"We can't have sex in here," she urges you quietly. "Come on." Her nails dig into your arm as she drags you along. She's not gentle. Her room isn't far. The door slams shut. You instantly attack her jaw with your teeth.

She draws away long enough to get access to your neck, and then she's biting and sucking harder than you've ever known her; she violently pulls you around and pushes you down on the sofa.

"Clothes off, now," she commands, her voice dark with arousal. You can imagine the way her nook must be looking about now. Under other circumstances, you would lick her clean. Now, you want to bury your bulge in her until she bleeds.

You don't comply with her command. You don't take your own clothes off. Instead, you tear and rip at her clothes with no regard for their integrity, exposing her naked flesh. You pull her close once she's naked. Your nails are digging into her ribs. She starts ripping off your clothes and biting her way down your chest.

Her teeth leave marks, but unlike her, you don't bleed.

She's not as angry as you.

"Fight me," you growl. "Fight me like you mean it."

She doesn't respond, but her next bite goes deeper. You can tell from the pain that she's drawing blood this time.

You pull her up. Your jade blood is coating her lips and teeth. You kiss her feverishly. You pull her hair and bite her tongue.

She gives a shout when your bulge digs itself into her nook. She bites your shoulder as you start to push. You're far more violent than you've ever been with her. You want to hurt her. You want her to feel pain.

You've never been in a caliginous relationship; you've had black sex before, but never like this.

It seems hate is strongest when it was made from love.

Your feelings are black as coal, blacker than the night, and you pick up a hard and fast rhythm, drawing cries and shouts from her. Your bulge is thrashing inside her nook and she grinds down on you with violent abandon, shooting pleasure and pain through your body like lightning. You muffle your own cries in her shoulder - she's going to have impressive bite marks all over her upper body and you couldn't care less. You draw her closer, feel her heat on your skin - in all these months, you never noticed how hot her skin is. She's moaning loudly, her fingernails digging deep into your skin, and the friction you create with your bulge nearly makes you scream. You can feel your orgasm building up steadily and your rhythm stutters, becoming erratic; you pull out and grasp for the bucket a moment too late, leaving a trail of green on her skin as you pail more violently than you ever have.

She rips the bucket out of your hands and adds her pail, holding on to your shoulder tightly as she shouts into your hair. The bucket nearly falls from her shaking hands; you can't shake off months of habit and take it from her, putting it to the ground.

Your first instinct is to curl around her and hold her close, just like you always do after sex. But when she reaches for you, you scramble away.

"Don't touch me," you say, your voice rough. "Don't you dare pretend you love me."

She looks at you from the other side of the sofa.

"Damn," she says after a moment of silence. "If I'd known you're that good at hatesex, I never would've allowed you to settle on red."

She's too late to stop you this time. You slap her across the face. She's already bleeding from where you bit her on her lip and jaw. She can't suppress a low gasp of pain and you feel triumph searing through your chest.

How dare she. How dare she brag about her achievements now, now that you're more hurt than ever.

You want to leave, just take your clothes and go, but once again, you can't bring yourself to move. And once again, you know it's you, not her, that's making you stay.

"Why?" you ask. You don't know if you want an answer. You don't want her to justify herself to you. But something in you needs to know.

"Why what? This?" She gestures loosely to the two of you and the new stain of green on her sofa. "You initiated it, who was I to say no?"

"No, that's not what I mean." It takes an effort to keep your voice down. You ball your hands into fists. "Why did you make me love you?"

"Oh. That." She doesn't even think about it. "Habit. I do it with most of my slaves, certainly my consorts. They're more loyal that way."

You hate hate hate her. Doesn't she have any regards for other people's feelings?

"You said I was a person, not a toy," you say coldly. "I've never felt less like a person."

She says nothing. You get up and gather your clothes. Most of them are utterly ruined; you cover yourself up as best you can and make your way to your room. Luckily, it's already past dawn, so no one except you is up.

You make it to your room; as soon as the door closes behind you, you can't hold back the tears anymore. You weep silently as you take off your clothes and lower yourself into your sopor tank.

It's the first day in months that you're sleeping alone. On the ship, you wouldn't be able to sleep; your tears and loneliness would keep you awake until dusk.

You consider leaving in the middle of the day, just taking your things and heading into the city. There are dangerous folk around by day, but you know you can defend yourself. You're not scared, and you're better at fighting than the Marquise ever suspected. You indulged her protectiveness of you because you don't enjoy fighting, but you will if you need to.

But the sopor is already having its calming effect on you. You can feel your consciousness slip and resolve to leave as soon as you wake up in the evening.


	9. Chapter 9

Before the sun is down, you've packed your things and are ready to go.

Your steps barely echo in the deserted entrance hall. You move quietly, fluidly, not wanting to draw attention to yourself.

The door creaks open before you reach it, and a tall figure enters the hall. His sight stops you dead in your tracks. He's already spotted you.

He's alone this time, but no less dangerous.

"Mary," Dualscar says, his voice the same unpleasant drawl that you remember. "What a... lovely surprise."

His eyes flick down to your lips and neck. You suddenly realise that the evidence of your caliginous activities with the Marquise is visible, very visible - and he is her kismesis.

"Dualscar," you say calmly, masking your feelings under a layer of ice.

"Oh, so this time you're allowed to talk to me," he says with a small grin.

"I don't know if I'm allowed," you say. "I don't care."

He steps closer. You take a step backwards and stare him down. He doesn't touch you.

"I see," he says quietly. "Trouble... in paradise?"

"What business is it of yours?" You still stare at him defiantly. He sighs.

"None, of course. Unless you've had - black relations with her." The way he says 'black' sends uncomfortable shivers down your spine. "Then it becomes my business."

You say nothing.

"Word travels fast in the city, Mary," he says softly. "They heard you in the morning. I came here to see if the rumours were true. And here you are, presenting the evidence to my own eyes."

His eyes again travel to the wounds she inflicted on you. You defiantly remain silent.

"I've been her kismesis for sweeps," he says. His voice grows louder, angrier, but he still seems to be in control of himself. "I know her style better than anyone. You can't fool me."

You take a deep breath. "We weren't expecting you here so soon," you say calmly.

"Yes, I know," he says. "Funny how that keeps happening."

The seconds go by. Eventually you work up the courage to speak.

"Are you going to kill her?"

His laughter echoes across the hall. It's harsh and cruel and cold and it hurts your ears.

"No," he says. "Gods, no. I doubt I'd survive trying. You see - she is better than me."

You don't know Dualscar well, but well enough that he won't let her infidelity slide. Someone will have to suffer.

And if it's not going to be her...

"You're going to kill me," you realise.

You're surprised at how little the thought distresses you. Your life ended when the Sufferer died. You moved on and found a new life then, but it ended again last morning when she brought back the new slave.

You have nowhere to go and no plans beyond leaving.

He's taken out his gun and runs his hands along it caringly. It's a beautiful weapon, built with very advanced technology. It's said to be the only one of its kind.

"You were right, you know," you say.

"I was?" He looks away from his gun, at you. His hands still.

"About her."

An evil grin spreads across his face.

"Good to know you've finally caught up," he says.

The gunshot echoes in the hall, too loud, too loud. You feel a searing pain in your belly and collapse to the ground.

"That should do the job," he observes. "See you, Mary. Or not."

The door closes behind him, and he is gone.

You're lying on your back. The pain is nearly unbearable; you can feel your eyes water, though you refuse to make a sound. You're losing all feeling in your legs.

You can hear a door being opened. You hear a sharp gasp and then feet running towards you. A face leaning over you. You can barely see, but you recognise her as the slave Mindfang bought yesterday.

"My lady, someone's been shot," she says, her voice high with fear. "One of your servants, she's - she's over here -"

The moment she comes into view, it's like all your vision clears and focuses on her.

Her, who you've spent a long time loving, and a short time hating. Her, who has managed to stir up more emotions in you than you ever thought yourself capable of having.

For a moment, you think she's just going to pass you, spare you a look and leave you to die. Run after Dualscar and avenge her broken toy.

But a moment later, she's by your side.

"Mary," she whispers. You read the word from your lips more than you hear it. Your eyelids flutter shut.

Strong hands on your shoulders. You whimper and reluctantly open your eyes again.

"Stay with me, Mary," she says. She turns to her slave.

"Find someone, a healer, a nurse, anyone," she says harshly. "And hurry!"

The girl starts running, no doubt pushed by her mind.

"Please," you whisper. Her attention is on you again immediately.

"Please, just let me die."

"You're not going to die, Mary," she says forcefully.

"Don't." You're too weak to speak loudly. "Don't pretend you love me."

A quick smile flits over her features. You see hardly disguised pain in her eyes.

"I guess it's become a habit," she says.

You're distracted by a jolt of pain from your abdomen and don't answer. Instead, you groan. Your head falls to the side, your eyes closing again.

You want it to be over.

"I'm going to kill him," she whispers. You can barely hear her voice.

She touches your head lightly. The pain lessens considerably. She's taking it away, manipulating your mind into believing it's not there.

You just feel numb now, but strong enough to open your eyes again.

You're surprised to see her crying.

"You're not going to kill him over a slave," you whisper.

"I promised I'd kill him if he ever touched you again," she says. Her voice is flat.

"You also said you loved me," you say.

She closes her eyes. Tears are running down her cheeks. Why is she crying?

"You're not going to kill him," you say.

"No," she says, "no, I'm not, just because he killed one of my slaves -"

She falls silent and buries her face in her hands.

"Why," she says. She's not speaking to you anymore. You can barely make out the words.

"Why am I crying. I'm not supposed to be, this isn't supposed to - why am I crying?"

You watch her. It makes no sense.

She lowers her hands and looks at you. This time, the pain on her face is no longer concealed.

"Why am I crying, Mary?" she whispers desperately.

You don't have an answer. You want to close your eyes. Just rest for a while.

"No," she gasps the moment your eyes close. "No, Mary, look at me - stay with me, Mary, please -"

You look at her.

She's not just in pain. She's terrified.

Terrified of losing you.

You manage a vague smile. You try to raise your hand. Your arm seems to weigh a ton.

She sees what you are trying to do and helps you with her mind. You touch her face. Rub your thumb over her tears.

She's beautiful.

"I'm not dead yet," you whisper.

"No," she says. "No, you're not going to die, you're not going to leave me -"

You risk a look down on your belly. You're bleeding; you're losing some blood, but not nearly enough.

"I'm dying slowly," you realise. "He made me die slowly... I still have minutes left."

"Minutes," she echoes. Then something occurs to her. "How do you know that?"

"Seen this kind of wounds before," you say. Your tongue is heavy, but you're not ready to give up yet.

Not with all those emotions playing on her face.

Nobody could fake that.

"I used to work as a healer," you say. "Well. Assistant healer."

"When was that?"

"When I was raising my son," you say. "I had to sustain him, worked any job I could get. Lied about what I could do. Worked with the healers for near half a sweep before we moved on."

One of her hands has slipped down, stabilising your head. Her thumb rubs over your cheek.

"So many things I don't know about you," she whispers.

"You'll never find out," you say heavily. You can almost feel it, the life leaking from you.

"You're not going to die," she hisses.

"I'm dying," you say. "Nothing you or anyone can do."

"No," she says. "No."

"Minutes," you remind her softly. "Anything you want to say, say it now."

She watches you silently, tears falling thick and fast. Her hand caresses your face, her thumb brushing over your jaw and your lips.

"I'm sorry," she then blurts out.

You keep your eyes on hers. You can't give up now.

"I should never have let you get this close," she whispers. "I don't know how to live without you anymore."

You understand.

She thought she was manipulating you. She thought she was bringing you closer to her.

She didn't realise that she was bringing herself closer to you as well. She didn't realise she was making herself vulnerable.

She didn't realise how much she cared for you.

It almost makes you laugh. For all her cunning, all her lies and intrigues and manipulation - she herself was the latest victim of her mind games.

You would get a grim satisfaction out of that if you were in any other state. As it is, you can't bring yourself to feel negatively about her at all.

You touch her face. She leans down, leans her forehead to yours. Your horns touch.

You wish you could kiss her.

You start getting cold. The pool of blood underneath you is reaching an impressive size.

"Not long now," you whisper.

"Please don't leave," she breathes.

"Sorry." Your tongue is heavy. It's getting difficult to keep your eyes open.

She holds you. She touches your lips with hers, quickly, once, twice.

Breathing starts being a challenge.

"Love you," you whisper.

She hasn't stopped crying. She grips your arms. She kisses your lips. Her tears fall on your face.

"Don't leave me," she says, "Don't leave me."

She repeats it, like a chant, like a prayer.

And eventually, you do.

 

 


	10. Epilogue

You are Spinneret Mindfang's new slave, and you are scared.

Yesterday she bought you. Yesterday she was kind to you, she touched you and you let her even though she terrified you.

Today, you were woken up by a gunshot. You couldn't suppress your curious nature and got up to see what was up. Your new mistress beckons you over when she sees you.

"Go in first, and tell me what happened."

You nod and comply. The entrance hall is large, empty and cold. The last rays of the sun illuminate the floor.

You see the blood on the floor before you see her. You don't recognise her, but her sign is stripped: she's one of Mindfang's slaves.

You wouldn't have guessed any of her slaves to have jade green blood. But it doesn't matter. You run towards her. She's conscious, her eyes find you as you lean over her.

Who shot her? Why? Is her killer still around? You dare not look.

"My lady," you call instead. "Someone's been shot, one of your servants - she's, she's over here."

You can hear your own fear in your voice. She comes over and takes a look at her slave. She kneels down beside you.

"Mary," she whispers. Her hands are on her slave's shoulders moments later, shaking her gently. "Stay with me, Mary."

Mary whimpers softly. She's looking at the Marquise with tears in her eyes.

"Find someone," Mindfang says sharply, and it takes you a moment to realise she's talking to you. "A healer, a nurse, anyone. And hurry!"

You scramble to your feet. In the morning, you were told you weren't allowed to leave her mansion. You don't ask. You just run.

You run, run faster than you've ever run before, faster than you ever thought you could run. The evening sun burns on your skin, but you don't care.

You haven't lived in this city long. You don't know where you would find a healer or a nurse. The market place is more than a mile from her hive and you doubt her slave has long enough to live for you to find a doctor there.

So you just approach random passersby with fear in your eyes, asking desperately for a healer or a nurse. You're pointed to a dark alley. It takes you a few minutes to find a healer's office, and some more time to get through to her.

The healer is busy and she doesn't approve of the interruption. She takes your claim of an emergency seriously, though, and sends her assistant to go with you.

Her assistant looks only a few sweeps older than you. His blood is higher than yours. You take his arm and run back to the Marquise's hive with him.

The entrance hall is crowded with people. You barely recognise any of them. Mindfang stands in between them, her face blank and her eyes on the body on the floor.

You're too late, you think. You drag the healer forwards. He tells everyone to keep back. He kneels down and examines her. Her eyes are closed, the blood below her already drying.

He feels for a pulse and listens for a breath. He cuts her arm and sees if she's bleeding.

She isn't bleeding.

"She's dead," he announces. He gets up and looks at Mindfang. "Is there anyone else in need of assistance?"

She looks at him blankly, then slowly shakes her head.

He turns around, gives you a half-smile, and leaves.

It seems that everyone is watching the Marquise as she kneels down. She unclasps something from Mary's neck. A necklace with a pendant; her hands conceal the pendant from you. She slips it into her pocket and stands up.

"Burn her body," she advises no one in particular and leaves.

 

 

She summons you later. You go to her room without knowing what to expect.

She looks worn and tired. She's not smiling. She's not touching you.

You're scared of her, even more than you were yesterday.

"You must feel like I neglected you tonight," she says.

You haven't seen her all night. As a new slave, you were expecting to be summoned sooner. You were expecting to have duties by now, but you haven't really done anything.

"You will do as you please, my lady," you say.

She gives you a strange look. "Yes," she says. "Yes, I suppose I will."

There's a moment of silence. She's looking at you. The blank non-expression on her face scares you to death. You want to run. But you know you're not allowed.

"Was she," you say. Your throat is dry. You swallow and try again. "Your slave. Was she dear to you?"

She blinks. Her face changes. You cringe from the fury you see in her eyes.

"You don't speak unless spoken to," she hisses.

You take a step back and cower like a frightened hopbeast.

"Sorry, my lady," you whisper.

Your former master used to beat you when you were disobedient. You hope Mindfang will be more merciful.

And indeed, she doesn't raise a hand to you.

"I bought you to be my consort," she says suddenly. Her face is blank again; the fury has vanished. "But I didn't think it through. I'm not going to require your services."

The look in her eyes terrifies you. You don't know what to say. She's not going to require your services.

She might kick you out. She might sell you to another, worse master. She might kill you.

"I'm sure I could find a use for you," she says. She sounds tired. "But right now, I'll actually give you a choice. Stay or go. Stay, and I'll find a position for you with my servants. Go, and you'll never see me again."

You don't think about it. You're scared. You want to be as far away from her as possible.

You edge out of the room and sprint to the room that was assigned to you. You have all your things packed in a few minutes. You don't look back as you step out of the mansion.

You're free.

For slaves, it's one of the worst possible fates, but you are young and optimistic. You will fight your way up and you will find a way to make a decent living and you will not stop until you get what you want.

Whatever that may be; at the moment, you're still far too overwhelmed with the notion that you're actually free to care about what you're going to do.

 

 

Nights later, you're starving on the streets. Your optimism is almost gone. You wrap yourself in a blanket and shrink against the wall.

Footsteps come closer. You make yourself small. Encounters with strangers are better avoided.

He stops right in front of you. You carefully look up, expecting a kick or a beating.

Instead, you get an uncertain smile.

You recognise his face. He's the young assistant healer you dragged halfway across the city to witness Mindfang's slave's death.

"Hello," he says.

"Hey," you say. You're not sure what he wants.

"Quite a downgrade you've had since I last saw you," he jokes uneasily. You smile.

"You could say that."

He fidgets. It's cute. After a while, he seems to reach a decision.

"I don't live far from here," he says. "I could make you dinner, if you want? I'm not a great cook, but it's better than sitting out here."

It's difficult to believe that he actually wants to help you. But you accept his offer without even thinking about it. It's been two days since you had a proper meal.

He smiles as he takes your hand and helps you to your feet.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fanfic. And in case you're wondering what happens next - I am writing a sequel about the Summoner, and obviously Mindfang is a pretty big part of that story, so keep on reading if you want. :D
> 
> Please do leave comments, kudos, whatever, I'm always happy about feedback.


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